When the time comes – for Charlotte

When I think of Charlotte – and I do all the time, especially when I pass the turning to nearby Charlottetown (I love the idea of Charlotte having her own town!), I think of her generosity of spirit, of friendship, of talent, of time; the way she wrinkled her nose; and, of course, her signature red and black fashion style.

I think she would have liked the poem When the time comes by my friend Anne Caldwell (from Talking with the Dead).

Surround me with a feathered quilt of friends, then shoo them out. Feed me slivers of ripe mango, find a way to swiftly chill Chablis.